Three Wishes by Noliel

Fanwork Information

Summary:

Fingon musing while facing off against Gothmog. Almost-tribble.

Major Characters: Fingon

Major Relationships:

Artwork Type: No artwork type listed

Genre: General

Challenges: B2MeM 2009

Rating: General

Warnings: Character Death
Chapters: 1 Word Count: 312
Posted on 4 March 2009 Updated on 4 March 2009

This fanwork is complete.

Three Wishes

Posted in honour of both the first B2MeM challenge, and because it's Fingon's bio this month in the newsletter~

Read Three Wishes

Three Wishes

 

Fingon would like to blaspheme right now, to curse in defiance of his captor, but he's having a rough time as it is keeping the screams down, so he decides to just clench his teeth tighter. If he lives, which is not plausible, he's going to have one hell of a headache.

Fingon would like to spit in Gothmog's ugly, sneering face, or at least bite the hand hefting the axe above him, but he can only shudder as the flaming whips around him finally break through his armour and begin to scald his chain mail.

Well, Fingon thinks, better Elves have gone out this way, and a flash of foreknowledge hits him as he tries to glare into Gothmog's eyes. So. The moronic Balrog is going to go down at the hands of an Elf after all. But foresight doesn't bring him much satisfaction now, considering that it could have appeared much earlier and saved all of them from walking into this trap. Big favour it's doing now.

But most of all- he fights to think straight as his mail gives way to the heat- Fingon would like to see Maedhros right now, shake him by the collar, and tell him he’d better not dare blame himself for what seems likely to happen in a few more moments. Because he knows what that foolish, tragic, beautiful Elf is going to do when he finds out that he, Fingon, died like this. Blaming himself would be only the tip of the mountain.

His leather jerkin disintegrates with a hiss of apology.

There are so many things he'd like to do, to say, to be- but there's no time left, and anyway, it's pointless to worry about it now. So Fingon raises his head to the descending axe and closes his eyes.

Comments

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I cannot pick out a favorite line. The whole thing is just fabulous. Wow! It always amazes me when someone can capture so much characterization in so few words. The description is so viseral and so completely lacking in self-pity. Fingon the Valiant indeed. Very much how I would have imagined those last few moments.

This is fabulously drabbled! Even though we only 'hear' Fingon's thoughts, there is also the battle dynamics woven into it. With drabbles or short forms like this, the balance of storytelling is tricky, but oh my, this line for example is just gorgeous:

 His leather jerkin disintegrates with a hiss of apology.

Oh my goodness. I did not expect the tone of this subject matter, but it works; it takes something that's been written a lot before already and makes it feel new. This is my favorite part:

Because he knows what that foolish, tragic, beautiful Elf is going to do when he finds out that he, Fingon, died like this. Blaming himself would be only the tip of the mountain.

His leather jerkin disintegrates with a hiss of apology.

Good imagery always smites me somewhere between the stomach and the heart, and with this, I was smitten. ;)

Beautiful work, Noliel--like usual! :)